And how was your dream?
by BunnieGal
Summary: Arthur couldn't sleep. Had it been any other day, he would've collapsed into bed and melted into the luxurious mattress and thrown the blankets over himself, lulling into sleep in no time flat. But tonight was different. Less than 240 years ago, his own brother claimed independence, right then and there, in the middle of a rainy battlefield.


Arthur couldn't sleep. Had it been any other day, he would've collapsed into bed and melted into the luxurious mattress and thrown the blankets over himself, lulling into sleep in no time flat. After all, being the personification of a nation - especially a monarchy - tends to be very tiring.

But tonight was different. Less than 240 years ago, his own brother - although Alfred had grown to be more like a son - claimed independence, right then and there, in the middle of a rainy battlefield.

_"All I want is my freedom!"_

Once those words were uttered, Arthur Kirkland's world fell apart.

His brother, whom he had loved and cared for, wanted freedom? His brother thought he was being unjust? Didn't Alfred know that England was in need of money to repay the inevitable debts which war presents each nation? England had fought for _him_!

These questions were the first of many that made their way into Arthur's mind. Of course, this brought on feelings of confusion; however, even more present than confusion was the feeling of loss. Arthur Kirkland's baby brother, gone.

Of course, wounds heal with time, and they heal even quicker when you don't poke and prod them. The problem was that, when it seemed that Arthur had just forgotten that the wound was even there, salt was poured into it over and over again; the only thing that seemed to wash the salt away were the tears that were shed.

Have you ever seen a grown man cry?

I don't mean the type of whimper that comes when a few tears are shed, nor am I referring to the silent tear that somehow manages to sneak its way out of the eye and down the cheek. I am talking about full-on, body-racking sobs.

Whether you have or haven't, you can see where this is going.

Arthur felt the first tear prickle the back of his eye as he lied down in bed and curled himself into a fetal position, nearly motionless except for the movements of his stomach as he inhaled and exhaled, trying his hardest to stay calm and tell himself that this had literally happened over two centuries ago. The longer he sat down, the more vividly he was able to remember that day, even though he wasn't purposely thinking about it. But the longer he sat down, the more tired he became.

England sighed and sat up, forcing his body out of its state of stillness by stepping into his slippers, walking down the stairs, and opening the door into his back garden. It was a very cool, surprisingly clear night - a perfect night for a walk, had he any tea to drink. Arthur remembered that he wouldn't have any hope of being able to go to sleep if he had very much. Then again, one cup couldn't do too much harm, right?

Arthur swiftly walked into the kitchen and opened the cabinet above the stove, the cabinet that would've contained all of his tea had he not invited a certain Frenchman over for what was supposed to have been a serious conversation about governmental affairs. Even that was impossible, given that the Frenchman had a knack for pushing England's buttons. Not many details will be revealed, but let's just say that Francis got just a little too close to Arthur and might've said something just a little too inappropriate for the latter to tolerate. As an act of retaliation, England thought, Francis must've stolen his tea. How the Frenchman had managed to do that remains unknown.

"Bloody wanker," Arthur muttered, running his fingers through his blonde hair. Surely the guest couldn't have taken _all _of the tea. Mr. Kirkland still had yet to check the pantry.

Just as he was about to close the door of the cupboard, our British friend discovered a note written in handwriting that was too decorative to belong to any man but Francis. Arthur considered throwing the note away, sure that it was merely a taunt of some sort, but decided that the note would only infuriate him to the point of contemplating homicide.

_Bonjour, Angleterre.  
Do you remember your little comment about tea and how you most certainly do not have an addiction to it? Yes? Okay, good.__  
__Well, anyway, I've stolen all of the tea from your house.  
And no, don't even bother looking in the pantry.  
- Francis  
P.S. If you want more tea, good luck. The stores are very crowded on weekends._

"That bloody-" England began before closing his eyes and counting to ten. Right after he opened his eyes, he heard a sudden knock at the door. Wondering whom it could possibly be at this time of night, he made sure to look through the small hole on the door to find someone he really did not feel like even being in contact with due to the fact that this was the night before the two hundred thirty-seventh year after his new guest's independence.

"What do _you _want?" Arthur asked, seeming to be about as irritated as one can get.

"Whoa, dude, chill!" Alfred exclaimed. "I just wa-"

"It is one in the morning on the fourth of bloody July in the country of... what's that word Francis uses... ah, yes, le trés bien moi. What could you possibly want?"

"Let me get out more than one sentence and I'll tell you!"

"You have my permission to continue, as long as it isn't about something stupid."

"Yes, because I would fly to England and show up at the personification's house at one in the morning because I had something on my mind that could wait."

"Okay, fine. What is it? I don't have all day."

"Don't you mean 'all night'?"

"Would you like me to shut the door on you right now and pretend that this conversation never took place?"

"No!"

"Then get to the point!"

"I wanted to say... I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I know this sounds stupid, but... you know, today's the fourth of July, and..." Alfred trailed off, unsure of whether or not he should continue.

"And?"

"And... I just want to apologize for the way I acted. I shouldn't have humiliated you like that. I'm sorry."

"Oh..."

Arthur was at a loss for words, although that isn't very surprising. Alfred wasn't only on his doorstep in the middle of the night apologizing for something. Alfred was on Arthur's doorstep in the middle of _England_ on the _fourth of July_, apologizing over what had gone down several years ago. Now _this _was a side of America that England never saw. It almost seemed like a crazy dream.

"And you know what else?"

"What?" Arthur asked, snapping his head up to look Alfred in the eye.

"Your scones are actually really, really good."

"Are you serious? You mean it?"

"Of course I do, England. After all, I'm merely your imagination."

"What?"

Before he could receive an explanation, Arthur's surroundings suddenly faded into a pool of black before being replaced by a smooth, calming voice that was surprisingly good at singing lullabies. Where was he?

England opened his eyes to find Francis sitting next to his bed, stroking his hair and singing _Fr__é__re Jacques_ in a soft voice. The fact that Francis had gotten into England's house in the first place was nearly too much for Arthur to handle... not that it actually made him _angry._ It was just sort of weird to wake up to someone who was supposed to be his arch-enemy at... what time was it? Oh well, the answer to that could wait. Arthur still needed to know how Francis had managed to get into his house to begin with.

"Oh good, you're awake," Francis remarked. "I was beginning to think that you'd stay curled up like that forever."

"Wha-"

"Nothing, Angleterre."

"Okay, yeah, yeah, whatever," England replied, his mind still foggy as he tried to make sense of things. Surely he hadn't had anything to drink the night before...? "Why are you here?"

"The door was unlocked, and I know how you are on the fourth of July."

"So you let yourself in?"

"I guess you could say that, although I could prefer you to word it as if it wasn't as illegal."

"How can I do _that_? You let yourself into my house! You know that is a criminal offense- Gah, forget it. You didn't steal any of my tea, did you?"

"Do you honestly think I would do that?"

"How should I know? You let yourself into my house! What time is it?"

"The time is..." Francis looked at his watch. "Six o' clock in the morning."

"Way too early," England commented as he flopped back into bed. "Especially for today. Good night, Frog."

Francis chuckled. "Good night, Angleterre."

* * *

**If you have the time, I would _love _it if you reviewed!**  
**- BunnieGal -**  
**P.S. Please alert me of any OOC behaviour which may or may not have been present within this oneshot.**


End file.
